


Once and Future King

by TheBleachDoctor



Category: Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-05-05 15:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBleachDoctor/pseuds/TheBleachDoctor
Summary: FSN AU. Shirou finds a regal young woman in an alleyway one night, wounded and alone. He takes her into his home, and begins the strangest adventure of his youth.





	1. Prologue

Some would say that no matter where you were in Fuyuki, you could smell the ocean. It came with being a port city, but even the cool ocean winds were hardly having an impact on the Spring heat. Shirou swore that this year was hotter than the last for some reason. As the only member of the Emiya household, he had to make sure that the bills didn’t get too high each month, and for that reason he refused to use the many AC units scattered around his house. It was too large, if he ran them all then the electricity bill would become unmanageable, and money that could have gone into groceries would go towards the bottomless pit that was AC.

The only solution? Get out of the house. Mooch off of someone else’s AC.

And it was during heat spells like that that Shirou was glad that he had a part time job at Copenhagen. A nice, cool air-conditioned bar where he could earn money and beat the evening heat. There wasn’t much more he could ask out of a part time job. Not that the AC was the reason he worked at Copenhagen though! The owner Otoko Hotaruzuka, also known as Neko-san, was a good friend of his guardian Taiga Fujimura. Ever since Taiga referred him to Neko-san four years ago, he’d worked odd jobs and late hours for them, but he didn’t mind. Everything Shirou did was to help others, and knowing that he helped make Neko-san’s life just a bit easier was almost payment enough.

Almost.

“Alright, Emiyan,” Otoko used her nickname for him as she handed over a check, “That’s the pay for this week.”

“Thank you, Neko-san,” the redhead beamed as he put away his apron and accepted the payslip, bowing slightly, “Will you be fine for the rest of the evening?”

“Yes, yes, I will.” Otoko waved him off with a cheery grin, “Just get home before the sun sets. Working too late is bad for a growing young man.”

It was true, Shirou would work late into the night if someone needed help, but Otoko wasn’t one to work him to the bone unless it was an emergency. So with a quick farewell, Shirou left the bar and headed out into the sunset-tinted streets of Fuyuki, the dull roar of the small city buzzing around him.

Shirou began to head for the bus stop, but paused. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he should walk home today… perhaps it was the weather? The city was cooling down as the sun set, and it wasn’t too hot… yes, he’d walk home today. See some of the city. It wasn’t like he needed to do anything that night. Sakura and Taiga weren’t even coming over for dinner, strangely enough. There would still be enough time to practice his Reinforcement too.

Reinforcement… one of the only pieces of Magecraft that Shirou knew. That, Structural Grasping, and some Projection. As a Magus, he knew that he was pretty third-rate, but that didn’t deter him from training every night. Sure, at the moment his Magecraft was only good for helping him fix broken electronics and equipment, but… eventually he was sure that he could use it to help even more people.  
After all, his dream was to become a Hero.

Shirou chuckled to himself under his breath at the thought. A Hero that was just a glorified handyman… well, he was pretty good at archery, so perhaps he could use that. Either way, he was a long way from his ideal.

The sun dipped below the horizon, slowly plunging Fuyuki into the black of night as the many stars in the sky and the streetlights on the ground all sparkled to life, greeting the city’s eventide with a million lights. Fewer and fewer people roamed the streets as Shirou walked. They were all going home, going out… Taiga often lamented his lack of a social life, but aside from Issei Shirou basically had no real friends at school. Sure, there was Sakura, but she was like a little sister to him. Her brother Shinji was a good friend of his too, sure, but the purple-haired boy usually opted to spend his time with his latest girlfriend. Not that Shinji ever expressed a desire to hang out anyways.

The redhead had barely set foot in his neighborhood when something made him stop.

There was something in the air. It was hard to pinpoint, but… that smell.

Blood.

Shirou’s eyes narrowed as he tried to tell where it was coming from. That iron tang on the wind… someone was hurt. It could be dangerous, but he needed to try and help, at least.

What kind of Hero would he be if he didn’t do even that?

In seconds Shirou turned to where he thought the smell of blood was the strongest, and ran down that street. Yes, it was definitely this way! As he approached the alley it was coming from, he slowed. What was that in the air? It was… despair. Sadness? He’d felt emotions like that permeate the atmosphere before. So long ago…

In the fire.

Shirou cautiously entered the alley, and was struck with a sight that burned itself into his memory.

A blonde girl, clad in the oddest outfit reminiscent of a European Renaissance faire, slumped against the far end of the alley. The moonlight only barely overpowering the ambient light from the street, shone across her cherubic face… and her wound. A large gash in her stomach, and a single gauntleted hand held over the wound in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding.

What the hell? Nevermind the outfit, had someone mugged this girl? Why? Who? Shirou briefly pondered the circumstances before quickly shoving them aside for the matter at hand.

This girl needed help.

He ran to her side, gently shaking her shoulder.

“Hey, are you alright?” he insistently tried to rouse her, “Who did this to you?”

The girl’s eyes opened, a beautiful, deep green that slowly turned to meet Shirou’s own golden orbs. He had never seen such pure eyes… nor ones stricken with so much despair.

She opened her mouth and spoke… and Shirou mentally cursed his own poor understanding of English. He recognized a word here, a word there… but his vocabulary was horribly lacking. She was asking… something. Where they were? What time it was? Who he was? He didn’t know.

Shirou pulled out his phone and quickly began to dial the number of a local clinic. It was run by the Fujimura family, and served a lot of the local underworld. While he wasn’t sure that the girl would appreciate being taken to a Yakuza establishment, it was the closest and they had a lot of experience with stab wounds. Shirou could see the wound more clearly at this distance… and he didn’t like her chances to get to the hospital at the other end of the city.

As he rapidly explained the situation to the somewhat gruff individual on the other end of the line, he felt a hand on his arm. The girl was holding onto him, her breathing uneven and skin pale. Her expression told him that she didn’t expect to make it.

She spoke again. She was… asking him to do something. Do what? He wracked his brain for its meager English knowledge. She wanted him to… tell someone… something. Something about her. And her name, which was…

“Aru… ta?” Shirou tried to wrap his tongue around the English name. Wasn’t that a boy’s name? But she just smiled at that, satisfaction briefly crossing her face before her grip weakened. The girl’s eyes closed, and she slowly fell to the side, her armored upper body hitting the ground noisily.

“H-Hey, hey!” Shirou shouted, trying to lift her back up, “Stay with me, don’t fall asleep!”

“Come on…” he struggled against the weight of her armor, looking for a release clasp of some sort so he could strip it off and carry her.

“Help!” the redhead’s desperate voice reaching the guys from the clinic as they ran towards his cries, “Over here, help me with her!”

As the two Fujimura Yakuza members quickly ran over and began helping Shirou lift the girl, he made a promise to himself, to her. He would not accept any other outcome.

He would save her.

 

* * *

 

The King of Knights stood atop a blood-soaked hill. All around her lay the bodies of the slain. There an enemy, there a friend. No matter where she looked, there was another of her subjects, cut down in her defense. Another enemy, cut down in her name. All of them, a portrait of her kingdom’s downfall.

And standing among the corpses, the armored form of the one who brought it crashing all down. Silver and red, both in color and blood. She could hear that person panting in exertion after cutting down another of her knights.

Yet in her heart, she felt no anger, no loathing for the person who brought her life’s work crumbling down. There was only resolve at what she had to do. What she needed to do.

That person turned to face her, sharp green eyes glaring out from behind the helm.

“Well? What now, King Arthur?!” Mordred, her former knight, shouted at her, the red knight’s voice echoing over the desolate hill, “This is the end of your kingdom! Face the consequences for not recognizing me as king!”

The blonde King said nothing. What could be said to that? Instead she raised her sword, grasping it with both hands and prepared to cross blades with the person who she once considered one of her best knights.

“Kuh…” she heard Mordred grit her teeth as her fingers curled, held out in demand of answers Arturia would rather not give, “Is it hate? Do you hate me?”

Mordred’s hand clenched around her sword, her voice trembling in distorted, desperate rage, “You hate me because I was born to a witch?!”

Arturia did not reply. What was there to say to such a claim? Mordred did not understand anything.

“Answer me,” the red knight snapped, both hands going to her sword as she charged at the King with a furious scream, “ARTHUR!”

The King’s golden sword rose to meet the blow, and with a cry of steel on steel, it spun away, stabbing into the ground at the foot of the hill. Arturia gave her empty hands a brief look before grabbing her spear.

“…I have never hated you,” she spoke the truth emotionlessly, Rhongomyniad held tightly in her grasp. Mordred dropped into a defensive posture, ready to counter the blow, but the King of Knights would not fail.

“If you want to know why I didn’t give you the throne,” she braced her legs against the ground and pushed, the world passing by in a blur as she closed in on her traitorous knight.

“It was because,” the spear’s tip cleaved through Mordred armor like butter, “you didn’t have the capacity of a king.”

The very air shook from the impact, cracks running up the red knight’s metal façade before her helmet shattered like glass, revealing a face so familiar… so much like the King’s own.

Arturia found herself staring at that face… a face she would never have thought to see twisted in such shock, such agony, such… desperation.

Was that how she would look if she could? If she allowed herself to grieve over her fallen knights, to openly show what she felt in her heart, would her face look like that?

So enraptured by the face of her supposed son, Arturia didn’t notice Clarent until it was buried in her gut.

“F…” Mordred gasped out, eyes filled with a kind of longing alien to the King, “…a…ther…”

Like a discarded doll, Mordred collapsed against Arturia, her gaze forever frozen in the regrets of her last moments.

It took a moment, but the King managed to push her off, the red knight falling on her back. She looked down and saw… her knight? Her son? No, not her son, to admit such a thing would be to admit that… that…

That she had failed.

And hadn’t she?

The King of Knights looked about her, at the bloodstained hill. The place called Camlann that was now the grave of the Camelot’s finest and those that stood against her.

All of them, dead upon the ground.

How could this have happened? It wasn’t just Mordred, no, even with the machinations of her and her mother Morgan this wouldn’t have caused this. Was it because of Arturia? Were the choices she made, the destiny she forged, ultimately what led to this? She coughed, staining her hand with blood as she held her gut wound. A fatal blow if she ever felt one. Even now, the darkness began to close in, just like it had on her kingdom, her life’s work.

There was something that she once heard. In murmurs on the street and quietly whispered in the halls of Camelot. She hadn’t paid it any attention back then, it was an absurd idea, but now with her enemies, her allies, and her illegitimate son lying at her feet, and her soon to join them, she had to admit that perhaps they were right.

The King didn’t understand the people.

And then Arturia, King of Knights, fell upon Camlann Hill.


	2. Chapter One

Shirou hated feeling helpless. He’d aspired his whole life to be helpful to others, to save them like he was saved. It was to this goal of heroism that he’d trained relentlessly every day. So that the suffering he saw that day would never be repeated. That blonde girl he found, every fiber of his being screamed to help her but in the end all he could do was rely on others. None of the skills, strengths, or knowledge he’d acquired in pursuit of his ideal could save this girl who was on the verge of death. All he could do was wait and put his trust in others.

There was no other option.

All he was left with was his own thoughts, musing on what he could have done and contemplating what he could do to make sure that he was prepared for something like this in the future.

Taiga had come over to help but until the girl woke all she could do was wait as well.

He sat silently in the waiting room with his surrogate sister until the clinic owner, a rather gruff-looking middle aged man named Saito, ushered them in. The clinic had two practitioners, one licensed and squeaky clean, and the other was Saito. Just because he wasn’t licensed didn’t mean he couldn’t patch up the wounded well. Shirou had enjoyed his services a few times and he knew the local Yakuza frequented the man as well.

It helped that the Fujimura family set the place up. Convenient and, in the case of the blonde girl Shirou found, a lifesaver.

Saito led them into one of the side rooms they used for discreet patients, well lit with a thin window high up on the wall. It was just as sanitary as the main rooms but only half as big. The girl was lying down on a far bed with bandages and a blanket protecting her modesty. Saito began putting some bottles and bandage rolls away, and Shirou couldn’t help but notice a bin full of bloody rags in the corner.

“She’s recovering quite well for someone who just got gutted,” Saito sighed tiredly as he wiped his hands, “Just don’t stress her out, Fujimura-san. If she strains herself those stitches won’t hold.”

“I’ll keep that in mind Saito-kun, thank you,” Taiga nodded at the back alley physician as she and Shirou approached the girl’s bedside. Once close, Shirou was able to get a good look at her.

Although she didn’t have her dress or armor on anymore (the former was a tattered mess on a table and the latter was sitting in the corner) her beauty was hardly diminished. Shirou had seen blondes before. It wasn’t like Fuyuki was entirely devoid of foreigners but he had never seen hair that was so… gold. The way it framed her face gave her an air and presence that he’d never felt before from anyone else.

Her eyes, though… when he met her in that alley they held such pain and anguish but now they were simply empty. Blank, like there was nothing behind them anymore.

“I don’t think she speaks Japanese,” Shirou looked to Taiga, “I’m pretty sure she was speaking English when I found her.”

“Got it,” his surrogate sister cleared her throat, switching to her second language. The redhead simply listened, trying to pick out the meaning with his basic understanding of that language. She was asking for the girl’s name. A pretty basic English sentence. He got that at least.

The girl’s gaze focused slightly as she turned to face the two. Shirou sighed with relief at the motion. He had worried that she would be unresponsive or something. With a firm but quiet voice the girl spoke, her reply hesitant. Confusion clouded those green eyes as she looked between Shirou and Taiga. Again, he heard that name. Aruta? But it sounded different this time.

“Didn’t you say she said the name ‘Arthur’ when you found her?” Taiga looked to her surrogate little brother, “She just told me her name is ‘Arturia’. Maybe you just misheard?”

Shirou shrugged. Probably. He never was great with English anyways.

Taiga and Arturia continued to talk and Shirou’s limited English vocabulary was pushed to its limit as he tried to follow the conversation. The blonde foreigner sounded confused, and if he was right she was answering a lot of Taiga’s questions with different variations of “I don’t remember”. Couple that with her confusion and hesitation and… did Arturia have amnesia?

Yes, he could see it… she didn’t know about herself, just like Shirou didn’t know anything about himself before the fire. Was that how he looked back then?

“How much of that did you get?” Taiga glanced at Shirou expectantly. The redhead jumped in surprise and momentary panic. Gah, if he admitted that he didn’t understand most of that she’d probably give him extra homework or something like that!

“She doesn’t remember anything?” He answered quickly. A moment, and Taiga nodded.

“Seems to be that way,” she confirmed with a troubled look, “She might just be in shock. If we can’t find any ID with her clothes then I’ll check in with the old man and see if anyone’s heard about a foreigner around town… can’t be too many people around matching her description, right?”

Shirou looked to the blonde beauty staring at them blankly from her bed and silently agreed. There was no way that nobody had seen her around. She was simply too striking not to notice.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe nobody has seen her before today!” Taiga exclaimed in frustration as she and Shirou sat in the living room of the Emiya household, both their phones on the table along with a rather flipped-through phone book. The redhead groaned in agreement as he stared at all the numbers they crossed off.

Arturia didn’t have a phone, ID, or anything that could be used to identify her. Taiga said that her accent sounded somewhat British, but the nearest UK embassy told them that none of their citizens were even in the region. No go with any of the other embassies either. The Fuyuki police department were only aware of a handful of foreigners in town, none matching Arturia’s description. So her being here legally was improbable. But none of the local Yakuza had seen anyone like her either. So she wasn’t here for that kind of business either.

None of Shirou’s friends had any clue. Issei hadn’t seen anyone like that. Shinji just brushed him off and hung up. No matter what, there were no leads to pursue.

It was like Arturia had appeared out of thin air. Complete with a mangled set of armor and a lack of any memories whatsoever.

Which, of course, raised a problem.

“... So what do we do now?” Shirou met his surrogate sister’s gaze, the two of them sharing a concerned look.

“Without any papers or personal ID, I don’t want to think about her chances with the police,” Taiga muttered darkly in response. An undocumented foreigner? The authorities would just lock her up, and with no clue as to her origin…

“Well we’re not throwing her out onto the streets, so…” Shirou thought of all the different things they could do… but only one thing seemed right to him, “We should take care of her until she remembers where she’s from. I found her, so I should take responsibility.”

Taiga gave Shirou a worried look. Her little surrogate brother always had a bit of a heroic streak, and true she was considering taking care of the blonde amnesiac until Arturia recovered but the way he was talking made it sound like he needed to handle everything all by himself.

Besides, a young man and woman living together alone in a big house? Unacceptable!

“Taiga,” Shirou pursed his lips with a frown as he read into her sudden change in expression, “She has no one else to turn to. What kind of person would I be if I saved her, only to throw her to the wolves?”

“Besides,” he sighed, looking down at his clenched hands, “She’s just like..”

Just like he used to be.

Several long seconds passed before Taiga shook her head in amusement. What was the harm? It wasn’t like he needed to shoulder all the burden, and even though her mind tended to wander in the gutter a lot she didn’t consider Shirou to be the kind of person who would take advantage of someone under his care.

Well, seriously of course. Sometimes words left her lips before sanity caught up to the speed of thought. Shirou had certainly threatened to withhold his cooking from her over some of the things she’d carelessly said. It was perhaps the only consequence that could give her pause.

“As a teacher, I should object to this kind of arrangement… but you’re right, we should take responsibility. I’ll see what gramps can do about Arturia’s ID situation, and once she’s recovered enough to move we’ll let her stay here,” Taiga nodded confidently, “I’ll help take care of her too, Shirou. What kind of guardian would I be if I let my young charge act more responsibly than me?”

She didn’t really appreciate the dry look Shirou gave her in response.

* * *

 

 

Strange.

It was all so strange.

But why was it strange?

Was it different? And if so, in what way was it different?

She wanted to know, but when she thought to before there was nothing.

Nothing but her name.

Arturia Pendragon.

There… had to be more. She was someone before this, right? Before she woke up in a strange bed, surrounded by strange people, only one of which spoke her tongue.

Her language… which even the name of it escaped her.

Arturia knew that the huge swathes of nothing in her mind should worry her, should panic her in some way… but she couldn’t help but feel… apprehensive of it.

It wasn’t a feeling she relished.

Not that she had too much accessible memories about feelings in general. Lying there, staring out the window as she tried to ignore that dull ache in her gut, she tried to recall if this was the worst pain she’d ever felt but it was all just… blank.

It was as if she’d just travelled a long way, but when she turned around to see where she had come from there was nothing but a desert.

Arturia was entirely reliant on the goodwill of the strangers who had taken her in and dressed her wounds. Being a burden… was not something that sat well with her. However there was nothing to be done. Just adjusting how she was laying down wracked her stomach with pain, the stitches tugging with every movement.

The woman who knew her language and the red-haired boy had come back earlier that day and Arturia finally learned their names. The woman’s name was Taiga and the boy Shirou. With how she had difficulty pronouncing it though, Arturia was quite sure that she was mangling the names in some way. She didn’t know how she knew but the blonde remembered that different languages often had different sounds. In fact, Shirou had mispronounced her name as “Altria” which had earned him a scolding from his companion. She didn’t mind much… from what Taiga told her it was Shirou who had found her and rendered assistance… if this was true she owed him her life.

As soon as she was able she would repay the debt she owed him on her honor as a… as a-?

Arturia winced, clutching her head. Memories were fleeting. She would get the impression of a recollection, only for it to flee in a burst of pain.

She couldn’t wait to recover, to recover the use of her body and mind.

Relying on others like this… was wrong.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Was it a good idea to start a new fic? Maybe? Maybe not. In any case, this story idea has been burning a hole in my brain for a while now and it was time to put it down on paper. Let’s see how far I can take this. Fair warning, I’ll try to go by Nasuverse lore as much as I can, but it’s pretty deep and convoluted. I’m gonna butcher a few things, inevitably.


End file.
